


Olicity Playlist

by arrow_through_my_writers_block



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: Angst, Drabble, F/M, Fluff, Inspired by Music, One-Shots, Romance, Romantic Comedy, olicity playlist, possible light smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-08
Updated: 2015-05-03
Packaged: 2018-03-21 04:44:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,489
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3678033
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arrow_through_my_writers_block/pseuds/arrow_through_my_writers_block
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of one-shots inspired by songs in my Olicity playlist. All stories will have different content ratings at the beginning. Will include ficlets, AUs, season drabble, fluff and everything in between.</p><p>1) I Could Fall In Love - Selena<br/>2) Stranded - Plumb<br/>3) Dismantle.Repair. - Anberlin<br/>4) Hard Times - Emery</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. I Could Fall In Love

**Author's Note:**

> This ficlet is perfect for any reader. Just a little romance set maybe in season 1 or 2... doesn't really matter when. Please leave comments and kudos! :D

_I could lose my heart tonight_

_If you don't turn and walk away_

_'Cause the_   _way I feel I might_

_Lose control and let you stay_

_'Cause I could take you in my arms_

_And never let you go_

 

They both enter the ballroom at different entrances, finding the gala in full swing. They each scan the room in search of the other in the sea of faces and extravagant evening wear. Oliver catches sight of Felicity first and his breath is stolen from his lips, making him slightly dizzy. Her hair is down in a cascade of loose curls and even from this distance he can see her lips are bright red to match the shade of her dress. She's left her glasses as home, letting her eyes shine and steal the show. She finally sees him and smiles at how dapper he looks in his tux. She hopes he has suspenders on underneath the jacket. They just stare at one another from across the room, letting the world fall away in that moment. 

They both feel it. They both feel the unspoken need and desire from the other, but they do not show any acknowledgement. Felicity hopes he will ask her to dance, despite his distaste for it. Somehow the desire to ask her to dance is right at the front of his mind, almost as if she put it there. They maneuver around countless chatting circles and couples intimately whispering, eyes locked. She reminds herself that it is a simple infatuation she has; nothing is returned and nothing ever will be. He reminds himself that he can't let himself feel what he very clearly does. They both keep these as their mantras as they finally come face-to-face.

He grins, unable to help himself. "Hi," he says, awkwardly.

She blushes. "Hi," she says in return, finally looking away.

They stand within inches of one another, looking anywhere but into the other's eyes. It is somehow too painful, too tempting. Oliver clears his throat, killing the silence between them and willing himself to give in slightly. "Do you...uh... do you want to dance?" He holds out his hand hopefully.

Felicity looks up at him and can see his nervousness. He's clearly out of his element, and she understand this completely. He's a vigilante now... not a playboy. Fighting is his thing, not dancing. But she nods slightly and takes his hand. 

He leads her out onto the dance floor, feeling the warmth of her hand in his and allowing it to course through his body and ease his nerves. He pulls her close to him, wrapping his arm around her waist and keeping his other hand folded perfectly around hers. She brings her free hand up to his neck, letting her fingers run small circles at the nape of his neck. This small action sends electricity up and down his spine. As if in answer, he begins doing the same thing to the small of her back. She looks up at him through her lashes, intensifying his feelings. 

He's terrified. She's terrified. The small infatuation is verging on something so much more and neither of them have any way of stopping it. They both imagine all the possibilities. If they were to act on their clear-cut chemistry, would they still feel the same tomorrow? The question lingers between them as their eyes are locked once more, noses so close they are almost touching. Oliver is unsure if he can stop it. Felicity is unsure if she wants to stop it. 

Suddenly they are no longer dancing, but moving through the crowd. Oliver lectures himself on the dangers of starting something with Felicity, aware that it might be best to keep things to himself. Felicity's heart is pounding at the prospect of them moving into a new territory. Once they are in an empty hallway, their pace slows before eventually coming to a full stop. 

"I-" Oliver begins before cutting himself off. Her hand is gripping his tightly and she's so close - too close. Her perfume his floating up to his nose and sending him into a heavenly spiral. His heart pounds, in beat with hers and he doesn't even know it. 

"Oliver?"

He reaches up with his free hand and cups her cheek. She leans into his touch, closing her eyes with a euphoric smile. He can't stop himself. He leans in and lets his lips gently brush hers, finding them as soft and warm as he always imagined. She quickly responds to the kiss, leading his hand out of hers and to her back. He pulls her closer, crushing her to him as the kiss grows more passionate. She shoves her hands into his jacket and slips them beneath the suspenders she had hoped were there. 

The excuses and barriers are gone. They are lost in one another and know one thing for certain: they are falling, regardless of the dangers and potential heartache. 


	2. Stranded

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oliver doesn't know why he's watching Felicity pace the old foundry, but he can't seem to stop. And deep within him, he knows he can't stay away any longer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a short one-shot about Oliver finally coming to the realization that he needs to return home...

_You know it only breaks my heart_  
_To see you standing in the dark alone_  
_Waiting there for me to come back_

_I'm too afraid to show_

_If it's coming over you_  
Like it's coming over me  
I'm crashing like a tidal wave  
That drags me out to the sea  
And I wanna be with you  
And you wanna be with me  
I'm crashing like a tidal wave  
  
And I don't wanna be  
Stranded, stranded, stranded, stranded

 

There are no lights on in the foundry, and Oliver prefers it that way. All the memories are subdued with the lights off, unable to accost his deadened emotions. If he feels too much, it will all be over and he'll come crashing down. But the remnants of his past life are still evident in the abandoned rooms, reminding him of everything he had once lived for. The computers are there, collecting dust. The sparring mats and cluster of weapons are unused. The salmon ladder stands tall and eerie without the echoing clanging of the bar. Objects of a life he can no longer desire. 

He paces in the shadows, his hood pulled low over his forehead and the mask covering his mouth. His clothes -his uniform- is heavy and hot, locking his heat and rage inside, forcing him to stew in it. He hates it. He hates all of it. He soon realizes that the foundry was the worst place to retreat to. He had a mission. A mission that would break his heart and leave him with nothing more than the League to fall back on. He curses under his breath, picking up his bow and stepped toward the stairs on the other side of the room. 

But the sound of the security door creaking open stops him in his tracks, cutting off his plans, halting his progress. He crouches behind a table, lightly dropping his bow to the ground. High-heeled steps clink against the stairs and soon he glimpses the blonde hair, hanging loose and lifeless around a pale face. In the darkness she is a light, and he basks in the beauty and the glory and the tragedy. Within him, his heart aches. 

Felicity sniffles, holding back her tears and he longs to make his presence known. He longs to speak soothing words to her, reminding her that he is hers and she is his. But he can't. He can only watch. 

She makes her way about the room, letting her hands slide along the metal tables and the keyboards, reminding him of all the times her fingers flew over the keys and solved so many problems. She reaches up and wipes a tear away from the corner of her eye, then straightens her glasses. Those glasses. The glasses he had slipped off tenderly. The ones that had reflected his many levels of despair and longing and anger and love. Every emotion he had ever felt around her were reflected back to him through those lenses. They taught him to be a better man. 

She finds her way to the salmon ladder and reaches up to grasp the bar, her hands shaking. She lifts herself up, letting her body hang there, swinging to-and-fro like a child on the monkey bars. He closes his hands into fists, resisting the urge to go to her, to allow those legs to wrap around him like they had only once before. To allow those arms to grip his neck tightly, never letting go. But he stay hidden, unable to move. 

She drops to the ground, the click of her heels echoing in the lonely space. And this breaks the dam. She doubles over, her shoulders shaking with her sobs. Her arms wrap around her abdomen as if to hold herself together. But she's broken and he's the cause. He's the one who has taken a strong woman and destroyed her. He tries to steel himself, to retreat into that League shell they've been creating, but her grief-stricken sobs cut deep into him, cracking that shell and leaving it useless. 

He has nothing to protect him from the onslaught. He's faced with an overwhelming truth that he had buried deep the moment she left Nanda Parbat: he wants to come home. He needs to come home. His life is meaningless without her. His life is meaningless without someone to share it with. He remains still. Perfectly still. Assassin still. He wonders how to make his move, how to let her know he's there. How to let her know his inner struggle. Everything boils within him, churning his insides to an uncomfortable mush. He doesn't want to startle her but he doesn't want to wait too long, in case she leaves without ever knowing he was there. She has to know. Has to know he's there. Her sobs are still echoing, only slightly quieter, but still painful. They echo in his heart. They kill him.

He forfeits his anonymity and pushes the mask down, keeping the hood up. If he reveals himself, she must know it is him, Oliver Queen, and not the dreaded Al-Sah-him. He takes in some deep breaths, building himself up and working out the many dangers this choice could create. 

Finally he stands to his full height, getting a better look at her. She's still doubled over, her whole body shaking with each sob. He fights back tears as he walks toward her, pulling off his gloves, letting them fall to the floor. He comes around and steps in front of her, but she doesn't look up. She's too oblivious, lost in her grief and misery that he shares. He reaches out and places a hand to her cheek, gently framing her face. She jumps up and away from his touch, startled. "Felicity," he whispers, tossing the hood back to reveal his face.

She steps forward one step, her eyes narrowed and hands shaking. He reaches for her, tucking loose curls behind her ear. He frowns when her head doesn't lean into his touch, but he should have expected that. He bridges the gap between them and wraps his arms around her, enveloping her in his warmth. At first she resists, remaining rigid and cold. But soon she melts into him, new tears and sobs breaking through. He runs a hand through her hair, soothingly, hoping it makes the moment feel more real for her. 

"Oliver..." she whispers, almost a gasp. It breaks every last barrier the League has built and conditioned within him and he brings a hand to her chin, tilting her face up so she can look at him. Her eyes are full of sadness and joy and heartache and love, all mixed together to make her all the more beautiful. He leans down and presses a light kiss to her lips and she accepts it graciously. When he breaks away, her lips are parted and whispering: "Please come back..."

He doesn't realize it at first, but he's nodding, letting her know his intentions before he even knows them himself. She looks down at his uniform, eying it with pure disdain. Slowly, she brings her hands to the belt around his waist and begins unbuckling it, letting it clatter to the floor at their feet. She glances up through her lashes, sending him into a frenzy of desire. He begins slipping the jacket off, letting it join the belt. 

"Please come back..." she whispers again, though she's already been given the answer. It is clearly unbelievable to her, and he can't blame her. 

The last of his shirts come off and he stands still as she takes him in. He remembers their one night together and the way she caressed his every scar. But now he has a new one, and he's nervous for her to see it. But he turns, letting her see the branded arrow at his back. She presses her fingers to the raised skin and he shivers, her touch cold. Then suddenly her lips linger on it, sending warmth through it and out to other areas of his body. She returns to face him, her eyes filled with new tears. "Please come back..."

He nods and steps forward, crushing his mouth with hers as he lifts her up, loving the feel of her in his arms. It is the only thing he could ever want, and he wonders how he was able to let her walk away. He sets her back down onto the floor and cups her face in his hands. Between kisses, he mumbles repeatedly, "I'm sorry..."

Whether she hears him or not, he can't tell. She's too busy forcing his hands to unbutton her blouse as she gets to work on his pants. They're naked within moments, all the while he apologizes and she begs him to stay. He lifts her up and she wraps her legs around him, just as he had thought about and longed for earlier, and he carries her to the bed he had never gotten rid of. As they collapse onto the mattress, he touches her cheek and plants a light kiss onto her nose. "I'm staying..."


	3. Dismantle. Repair.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Al-Sah-him wished the team hadn't come along to retrieve Lyla, and he especially wished Felicity hadn't been there. His need to obey Ra's al Ghul is much more difficult when Felicity is tearing down every wall and breaking through the facade.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by the song Dismantle. Repair. by Anberlin (seriously, if you haven't heard this song, LISTEN TO IT ASAP. It is totally an Oliver-esque song). 
> 
> Comment/kudo. All support and love is appreciated.

_Hands, like secrets, are the hardest thing to keep from you_   
_Lines and phrases, like knives, your words can cut me through_   
_Dismantle me down (repair)_   
_You dismantle me_   
_You dismantle me_

 

When they walked up, his heart clenched in his chest. He had expected John Diggle to come to the meeting place; it was his wife, after all. But to see the entire team was a shock somehow. And, worst of all, to see Felicity. To see her brightness. The pink coat and pink lipstick and her worried, heartbroken expression. It made the darkness slip away, dismantling the facade as if it were a sandcastle being battered by the tide. Her presence alone caused his hardened, tortured heart into a frenzy. 

He took a deep breath. In and out. In and out.  _I am Al-Sah-him. I am Al-Sah-him._ He thought it like a prayer. A mantra. A reminder.  _I am Al-Sah-him, Heir to The Demon. She is nothing._

But she was standing there, looking disappointed. It killed him to see her disappointed in him. She had called him a hero. Had repeatedly reminded him of how much she believed in him. And now he was shattering that belief and destroying that heroic mask he had worn for so long. He could tell she was fighting back tears. Those tears would be shed when she was alone, unseen by those who needed her strength and light. He knew her so well, and that could be his undoing. He breathed in and out once more.  _I am Al-Sah-him._

Diggle quickly demanded they hand Lyla over as the other assassins searched them. As he gestured for Lyla to be brought out, Felicity's voice rang out, echoing in his ears. The anger. The disgust. The fear. The hurt. "Don't you dare touch me." Sarab turned, his face full of confusion and an expectation of orders. He gave Sarab a nod, the only acknowledgement he was willing to give. He could not let words com out. He could not let them hear the conflict, so tumultuous, roiling through his body.  _I am Al-Sah-him._

"Oliver," her voice broke through the chaos in his mind. "This isn't you." 

_I am Al-Sah-him._

"Look at me."

He kept his eyes looking forward, more through her than at her. If he focused on her, too many images might spring to mind. Images of everything that might've threatened his mission.  _I am Al-Sah-him._

"I know you're still in there somewhere."

He had to avert his gaze. She could be nowhere within his line of sight.  _I am Al-Sah..._  The mantra faded out, silenced by her light and her words that sliced through him. Her belief. Her hope. Her wishful thinking. It broke his heart. In his periphery, as he forced himself to focus on Nyssa, he could see her despair at his refusal to accept her confidence in him. He longed to go to her. To allow his hands to grasp hers. To protect her from her grief. To tell her the truth. To reveal his plans. To prove he was still the man she believed in. But he steeled himself once more.  _I am... I am..._

He released Lyla, his identity pushing through, threatening to break free.  _I am Al-Sah-him._ Another glance at Felicity tore his heart apart once more, as Lyla dug the pistols out of her coat and aimed at his comrades. It wasn't time for longing, lust or heartache.  _I am Al-Sah-him. Heir to The Demon._

Fighting Diggle one-on-one kept him away from her light, the darkness surrounding him and controlling him. Even as Diggle proclaimed him to be Oliver Queen, he remained cold, stoic, unflinching and unhindered.  _I am Al-Sah-him._

But he could still see her pink coat and blonde hair and pink lips flashing at the far-reaches of the circle, keeping out of the fray, staying safe. Something deep within him felt relief. He tried to bury the feeling, but it was too strong. If she were to be harmed, he'd never forgive himself. He might destroy her trust in him. He might destroy her love for him. But if she were harmed... 

_I am Al-Sah-him._

The end of the fight came with an arrow to his wrist, the pain nothing compared to the shock of seeing his sister. He cut the shaft and ripped it from his arm, stomping away, feeling angry and humiliated and, most of all, confused.  _Am I Al-Sah-him?_ His heart pounded in his chest as he looked back only once, seeing Felicity staring back at him, shocked and terrified. In the darkness, the shadows, he let himself take her in. Everything he had done to her. The disappointment she felt mingling with the disappointment he suffered. The rage she fought back mixing with the rage he had so unwillingly embraced. The fear she let wash over her mirroring the fear he kept bottled up. 

A few weeks ago, they had been one. A complete reflection of the desire and love they had both felt but kept beneath the surface. Now they were apart, yet felt the same emotions. The realization, brought about by her face and her words and their love, broke down his facade. As he walked away, keeping the pained breaths and groans at bay, he let his mind churn with images of their one night together. Her hands caressing his body and his scars. His hands feeling her every curve. Their lips never parting. Their bodies never separating. 

He would have to continue the act. He would have to be the disgusting, brainwashed puppet Ra's had created. But there was one thing he knew and the knowledge made it impossible to continue the lie. The mantra. The prayer. The reminder.  _I am Oliver Queen. I am Oliver Queen. I am the man she loves._


	4. Hard Times

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Coming back after his horrific stint with the League isn't easy, and Oliver is learning that his actions under the influence of Ra's won't be quickly forgiven. 
> 
> This one-shot has loads of speculation in it and hints at theories I think could be possible regarding Al Sah-him and all of the League evilness. This basically has no plot. Just angst and fluff.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This came about in a desperate attempt to get some words onto a page. My inspiration and muses have been hidden away since my last update, so this probably sucks. Don't hesitate to be honest in the comments.

_The loneliness of loving someone could steal your eyes_   
_And spill the hope you had and you're left to spend the words by yourself_   
_And no one else, no one else (no one else)._   
_The trust you handed over, the people that you hurt,_   
_But you could never stop yourself, an addict for the worst_

 

The silence is thick and deafening, stifling Oliver's ability to think and keeping his words constricted in his throat. They all sit around the table in Digg's dining room, tired and aching. Lyla massages Digg's shoulders while Felicity feeds baby Sara, keeping their eyes on Oliver warily. He doesn't blame them; he would be doing the same thing if he were in their place. He had kidnapped Lyla as leverage. He had almost killed John. He had imprisoned Digg and Felicity, all part of a plan they weren't privy to. He had shattered their trust, destroyed their confidence in him. Nothing could change that. No heroism or good deed could prevent the disgust flashing subtly from the depths of their eyes, matching in their intensity.

Felicity looks up from her task of wiping Sara's applesauce-covered lips and smiles sadly, seeing his pain. She knows him better than anyone else. She knows his secrets; the painful memories and obliterated morale. He had spilled all of his past to her on the trip home, unwilling to let secrets reside between them. But somehow, even with her supportive nature and loving eyes, even she can't hide the fear she feels. He can see it a mile away. It was evident from the very moment they were free to return home, all the danger gone and villains stopped. She might have listened to his explanations and stories and excuses, but that didn't change anything. Blood was still on his hands, sticky and warm... a badge of desperate times and bad decisions. He had disappointed her, and he was paying the price for that. 

Thea and Laurel enter the room with a couple bottles of wine and glasses. They are quiet, glancing up at him as they pour the wine, the red liquid so reminiscent of the red sheets he had enjoyed with Felicity a lifetime ago. He looks to her, wondering if she sees it too, but she's busy spooning one last bite to Sara. He sighs, reaching for a glass with a forced smile. "This is much needed."

No one speaks. They simply watch him. The tension in the air is tight, matching the silence. He fights back tears and rage. He can't take the awkwardness and the uneasiness, all directed at him. With another sigh and a gulp of wine to give him courage, he speaks. "I'm sorry," he mumbles. The air around him is charged with everyone's attention turning to him fully. "What I've done... what I've done as Al Sah-him is... it is unforgivable."

"You're damn right," Lyla blurts out, causing Felicity to glare and Digg to grow tense. 

"None of it was right, by any means, Oliver," Digg adds, squeezing the hands Lyla has resting on his shoulders. "But I can see how the act was necessary. I guess I just wish you had let us in on it."

"Yeah," Thea growls, like an offended kitten who still wants to be pet. "Why'd you trust Malcolm with your plan and not me... us?" Her words illicit nods from everyone at the table. Everyone but Felicity. She keeps her head down, glancing up at him through her eyelashes as she sets the bowl of applesauce aside.

He closes his eyes, asking himself the same question. He knows the answer, but with their distaste and distrust, he knows they won't accept it. He simply shakes his head, feeling a headache setting. 

"Well, I for one am just glad the city wasn't destroyed by an icky evil bio-weapon," Felicity chirps, all false cheer in the hopes of easing the tension. "We can all toast to that, right?"

Keeping his eyes closed, Oliver holds out his glass, hoping for reciprocation. He hears everyone toast, but no one clinks their glass to his. Only Felicity does, gently. He opens his eyes and sees her eyes boring into him, worry and sadness and fear mixed up within the color of her eyes, smoky blue. He takes a sip of the wine and then excuses himself, unwilling to remain in the company of the family he loves dearly, in the deepest way he can.

The chill of the rainy day cuts through his clothes, causing him to shiver. He hasn't felt this vulnerable in years, and it scares him. He leans against the wall in the alley, the rain drenching his face, masking the tears that he can't keep from falling. He clenches his fists, fighting the urge to punch something, anything.

"They'll come around," Felicity says, stepping around the corner, her brow furrowed in concern. She come up to him and rubs his arms, warming him and comforting him.

He grasps her wrists and turns around, pinning her against the wall. She lets out a small gasp and he grins playfully. He leans in and kisses her, hoping all of his love and unrest and worry can be felt. But she doesn't kiss back right away. She's rigid beneath his touch. He breaks away and frowns. "I'm not Al Sah-him anymore, Felicity."

She nods, chuckling awkwardly. "I know. I know that. It's just so hard to get over. I mean, you were so... ugly. Well... not physically. But emotionally, you were so ugly. And you really hurt us. You really hurt me."

He nods, hearing her words and feeling the guilt doubling in intensity. "I honestly don't know how to make things right... with any of you."

She tilts her head up and kisses him long and hard, her hands balled into fists, finger buried into his shirt. When their lips part, she sighs. "Time," she murmurs, her warm breath tickling his mouth. "It'll take time."

The pain of those words hits him. He hangs his head, letting their foreheads touch, hers supporting his. He tries not to cry, but it can't be helped. They tears come quickly and heavily and she's there to wipe and kiss them away. He can't believe she's still there, _somewhat_ trusting despite everything. 

"Oliver, hey," she says, cupping his cheeks with her hands and forcing him to look her in the eyes. "Right now things suck, and I have no idea how long it'll be like this. But we're still here and you're not alone."

Those last words.  _You're not alone._ He never imagined that those words would apply to him after all of his actions. Deplorable and evil and unforgivable. But somehow she's there, keeping him together and, even though she's nervous and wary, she still loves him. 

"Hey," she continues, still surprising him. "Why don't we go for a drive in that new Porsche of yours?"

"You wanna go for a drive with me?"

"Yeah!" she says excitedly. "Let's drive until we find some sunshine."


End file.
